Keep Breathing
by braceface freak
Summary: Moriarty lied at the pool. Of course he had a weakness, and a very much alive and breathing one at that. AU plot beginning at the end of 'The Great Game.'
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and the characters belong either to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Mark Gatiss or Steven Moffat. I can't even get preview tickets so it's most certainly not mine.**_

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><p><strong>Keep Breathing<strong>

"Do you know what happens if you don't leave me alone Sherlock? To you?"

"Oh let me guess," Sherlock drawled in a voice like velvet, the gun still held steady in his pale fingers and levelled at the spot right in the centre of Jim's forehead. He was trying to sound bored but the spark behind his eyes gave him away, "I get killed."

Moriarty sighed. _How __unimaginative._

"Kill you?" he squeezed his eyes shut and contorted his face into a look of absolute disgust, "No don't be obvious, I mean I'm going to kill you anyway someday."

Sherlock wasn't shaken, of course he wasn't he _must_ have seen that coming.

"I don't want to rush it though," Jim continued his voice falling to a flat monotone like he was discussing the weather; sunshine, rain, murder…it was all the same, "I'm saving it up for something special. No, no, no, no, no," he tutted, clicking his tongue against the back of his teeth as he shook his head weightily, "If you don't stop prying I'll burn you."

The words hung in the silence for a moment.

"I will _burn_ the heart out of you."

Again Sherlock didn't so much as flinch. A twinge of disappoint spasmed in Moriarty's forehead.

"I have been reliably informed that I don't have one."

Jim's lips twitched involuntarily, lifting up at the corners to form the cruel little smirk his mother had always scolded him over._  
>Why <em>_can__'__t __you __just __smile __like __a__ nice__ boy?_  
>He shook his head and the voice disappeared; it always sounded different these days the real timbre lost to the passage of time, only her screams were in key now.<p>

He shook his head again; this was not the time for sentiment.

"But we both know that's not quite true."

Sherlock narrowed his gaze and remained quiet, his eyes flicking briefly to the figure swamped in a green coat but it was long enough for Jim to notice. Jim noticed everything. His lips curled up even tighter. He had hit a nerve there.

The two men locked gazes, quicksilver puddles meeting black abysses as they sized each other up, their minds whirring away like clockwork toys and for a second Jim felt more alive than he had in years. It was terrifying.

"Well," he drew out the word on another sigh, "I better be off. So nice to have had a proper chat."

The gun wobbled as Sherlock slid forward, his feet slipping slightly on the damp tiles and nose wrinkling at the pungent stench of chlorine.

"What if I were to shoot you? Right now?"

A lazy chuckle slipped from Moriarty's mouth and he felt the corners of his eyes crease with amusement; this man was just too much fun!

"Then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face," he opened his lips as wide as he could, the extreme stretching of muscle and skin was painful but in the most pleasant of ways, "because I'd be surprised Sherlock really I would," he paused, forehead creasing into a frown, "and just a teensy bit…disappointed."  
>Another flinch; my! he was getting good at this.<p>

He stared down the barrel of the gun for a while, observing the exact angle the light reflected off the polished surface and making sure his nemesis knew exactly how little the threat frightened him, because that was all it was…a threat.

"And of course you wouldn't be able to cherish it for very long."

Another glance to the third man in their party, this one focusing on a dancing red dot over a C4 covered chest.

The water lapped patiently beside them. An abandoned towel hanging from one of the cubicles swayed lightly in the cold draught that was leaking in from somewhere. All was silent.

_BORED __NOW, _Jim's mind shrieked as clear a signal as always that it was time to leave; things to do, people to kill he couldn't spend his entire day having cat and mouse conversations with an, albeit spectacular but frankly annoying, man.

Round one of the game was over.

He waited quietly for a moment; hands plunged deep into his pockets so that his finger bumped against the side of the little black remote.

"Chao Sherlock Holmes," he finally growled out from between his teeth when the detective's attention had returned to him.

Sherlock followed his movement, rounding on him as he walked away so the gun continued to train on his head.

"Catch. You. Later."

Moriarty smiled back at him as his hand reached out to the door, singing his words in the same voice he had once used to tease other children.  
>"No you won't."<p>

The door banged behind him as he stepped into the corridor, smiling at the muffled sounds of hurried footsteps and frantically asked questions as Sherlock no doubt raced to strip his friend of the explosive vest; it was all quite sickening. Good though to confirm Sherlock's weakness; as long as Doctor Watson was around there would always be a way to get under the detective's skin and he planned to make full use of it. People really shouldn't exhibit their heart so openly it made it far too easy to hurt them….and where was the fun in that!

He hurried away down the corridor, striding past the rows upon rows of lockers that lined the peeling walls; Sherlock would come looking for him and he didn't want to end it in a single gunshot.  
>Round one was over but he had plenty more planned; it was going to be spectacular.<p>

A vibration ran through his body and he slipped his hand into his pocket pulling out the slither of black plastic curious to find out what imbecile had forced his mind away from the job at hand; punishment was one of Jim's specialities.

**Hope the bastards are dead. New contact made. Talk it over later. MM.**

Moriarty grimaced as he read the message.

Perhaps it would be better just to kill the two of them and be done with it. After all fun could _always_ be found elsewhere and Sherlock was a _(minor)_ threat. A threat to him, yes; but more importantly to _them_. And he couldn't be having that.

Besides he _had_ promised.

_Decisions, decisions, decisions._

Clearing the screen he tapped away reluctantly on his keypad for a few seconds.

**Hold your position. JM.**

Slipping the device back into his suit pocket he straightened his tie with one hand, the other fiddling with the buttoned remote again; it was lucky he'd had a back-up plan. But then they didn't call him a genius for nothing.

Happy that Sherlock would have returned to the poolside under the impression that he was long gone and probably worried about the state of his friend, Moriarty began to languorously make his way back as well.

_No __reason__ to __rush, __savour __the __moment._

His fingers traced along the cold, metal surfaces of the lockers; there would be nothing left of any of this once he had finished, just a smouldering crater in the ground, the bones of those two grievous pains undeterminable from the ashes of beam and brick. The idea sent an icy chill racing through him. How he loved this!

Peering through the glass panel on one of the doors he watched, unseen by the two men, as they chuckled over some joke Sherlock had just made. John was pushing himself up from the damp tiles with a look of utter relief, Moriarty smiled; perfect timing.

With a loud, echoing bang he swung the door open and the whole building seemed to quiver at his presence, a ripple spread across the pool towards the two men at the shallow end causing the water to splash over the tiles. Even from a distance Jim could see the red points of light dancing over the chests of the two men, drifting up across their foreheads then down their temples and necks. Sebastian always had been very_,__very_ good at what he did.

"Oh sorry boys!" he called as John collapsed back to the floor looking like he had aged a hundred years at the sound of Moriarty's voice, "I'm so changeable. It is a weakness with me but to be fair to myself it is my only weakness."

_Not __true __of __course, __but __no __need __to __let __them__ know__ that._

"You can't be allowed to continue."  
>He paused, upset at the way Sherlock had his back turned towards him. When the man took his last breath Jim wanted to see the fear in those sharp, silver eyes.<br>"You just can't. I would try and convince you but everything I have to say has already crossed your mind."

Sherlock still didn't move; the only indication he gave that he was paying the tiniest bit of attention was the slight defensive rise in his shoulders. He was going to go down fighting Moriarty concluded with an inwards grin….oh goody!

Finally the tall man opposite turned, his pale face set like steel and his voice just as hard.

"Probably my answer has crossed yours."

The gun appeared again, raised and aimed into the centre of Jim's chest. But he only smiled, Sebastian Moran was his best man for a very good reason; Sherlock would be dead before he even pulled the trigger.

Then the arm dropped, that thin wrist slipping down to point the weapon at the floor, to point at the green coat lying discarded only a few metres from Moriarty's feet, a blue light winking ominously from within the thick folds of fabric.

_What was he doing!_

Jim felt his expression flicker and tried to hide it by flexing his neck in a manner suggesting boredom, finishing by rapidly fixing his lips into the shape of his broadest grin; he could think of nothing worse than showing any titbit of true emotion to this hawk. His eyes met Sherlock's across the empty, blue expanse of tile and water daring him to do it. The final test of Sherlock Holmes.

Inside his pocket Jim swivelled the top of the little device, feeling the button pop up against his fingertips.

The night was turning out to be so much fun.

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><p><em><strong>Ok, so that was basically a rewrite of some of the final scene of Series 1 from Moriarty's PoV. Things will get more interesting later, I promise you. <strong>_


	2. Chapter 2

**Keep Breathing  
>Chapter 2<strong>

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><p>"Jim?"<p>

Molly called into the darkness as she stepped quickly over the threshold of her front door, dumping the bulging shopping bags she was holding without a second thought to the frozen items that were going to leave a nice water mark on the new carpet. Leaving the light off she made her way through into the kitchen aware that the sterile surfaces and smooth lines made it Jim's favourite place in the small and sparsely furnished apartment. The man was full of odd, little fetishes like that. She smiled.

"Jim?"

Her mind whirred frantically even as she scolded herself for worrying. He was just a little late, nothing to get concerned about.

Collapsing back on the couch she reached for the television remote hoping she could find some comfort in the bland, unstimulating programmes they showed at two o'clock in the morning; knowing that she wouldn't.  
>The shopping bags lay forgotten by the door, the melt water seeping into the pile, as she flicked rapidly through channel after channel.<p>

"**NEWSFLASH!" **

The TV screen stopped flickering. Molly stared as the image of what had once been a building filled her view, all that remained of it now was a smouldering heap of rubble some still burning, other pieces resting haphazardly in a rectangular pool of dust-filled water….

A pool.

Something slipped into place in her head.

_The_ pool.

_Sherlock,_ she growled to herself the noun echoing up her throat and burning her mouth, _that __melodramatic __bastard. __If __anything__ had __happened __to__…__._

She stopped. It wasn't possible. She couldn't think like that.

She repeated the phrase over and over, the mantra becoming a song inside her head and the steady voice of the newsreader barely registering as he announced the survival of two men: one alive, the other in a critical condition. But worse, the belief at least one other person had been present in the building at the time of the blast.

Instantly she was up, her fingers hurriedly refastening the buttons on her atrocious pink jacket.

She was out the door in less than thirty seconds; the little heels of her shoes clattering loudly on the metal stairs…lifts were too slow.  
>Her shopping was forgotten and left forming a little puddle on the floor.<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

**Keep Breathing  
>Chapter 3<strong>

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><p>The lift door opened with a ping and Molly stepped in more aware than ever that she was completely alone.<p>

And to make matters worse everything ached; her feet, her ankles, her head.

Reaching down she plucked off one of her shoes and rubbed the ball of her foot tenderly wishing, not for the first time that night, that she had changed before running around half of London. She sighed heavily burying her face in her hands as she stood leaning heavily against the metal wall.

Not that her panicked wanderings had gotten her anywhere.

The police at the crime scene had been far from helpful, their radios had buzzed constantly as she'd tried to sweet-talk something out of them and she was certain their fluorescent coats and flashing lights had initiated her damned migraine.

"_Have you found anyone else?"_  
>"<em>Can't tell you miss."<em>  
>"<em>But <em>_I__ think __my __friend __may __have __been __in __there__ when __it__…"_ _  
>She<em>_ hadn__'__t __been __able __to __finish __her __sentence, __her __throat __closing __up __beneath __the __façade.__ The __man__'__s __eyes __softened. __Perhaps __he __would __tell __her __something__…__anything._  
>"<em>Sorry miss. We can't disclose anything at this point," his hand fell on her shoulder and it took all her strength not to snap his fingers one by one, "If you really want to help then go home, have a cup of tea and get some rest. You look like you've had one hell of a day."<em>

Her hands balled into fists just thinking about it but she had left with a saccharine smile and cute finger-wriggling wave.

From the smouldering wreckage of the pool she had headed to the usual haunts, the various places she knew he would go if he was safe or injured.

Nothing.  
>Each place was as dark and empty as the one before and added another level of despair to the plaque that was clogging up her usually marvellous mind.<p>

Even the wolf whistles of a few drunkards staggering home hadn't been enough to rouse her from her depression; they just left her thinking sadly of how he would have made them suffer had he been striding beside her.

And now she was back at the beginning; more worried but equally alone.

_Where was he?  
>Safe, somewhere safe. Abroad perhaps….<em>

The lift doors slid open with a hiss and she stepped, limping with one shoe still clutched in her perfectly manicured hands.

…._if__ so __he __would __send __word __when __things __had __quietened __down__ a__ little. __A__ little __more __waiting, __she __could __manage__ that._

She reached into her pocket for the key, her hands shaking so much it took her three attempts to fit it into the lock.

_Or__ he __could __be __lying__ under __a __tonne __of __rubble, __his __beautiful __brain__ splattered__ across__ the __shards__ of __brick__ and__ steel. __Or__ maybe __something __had __gone __really __wrong __and __he__'__d __been __caught __in __the__ middle __of __the __blast, __his __body __now__ no __more __than __a__ few __chunks __of__ singed __flesh__…__.._she retched and stumbled through the door, slamming it shut behind her.

Darkness pressed in all around, safe and cold. How she wanted it to enfold her and never let her go.

_Why was the shower running?_

The gentle hiss of water was like a roll of thunder in the otherwise silent flat.

_Had__ that __been __her? _She couldn't remember turning the shower on. But perhaps the post-newsflash adrenaline surge had wiped the memory away, similar things had happened before…though not to her. For someone who prided themselves on the utter reliability and accuracy of their mind such events were rarities and not to be taken likely. She would have run a few checks when things returned to normal…._if_ they returned to normal.

Plucking one of the ceremonial knives bought back from travels in distant places…_this __one __looked __Arabian__…_and on tiptoes-well as best as she could with only one shoe on-she skulked down the narrow hall, staying close to the wall just as she had been taught. No use putting herself at any risk, though she didn't think burglars usually took showers in the homes they were stealing from.

If it was a burglar they had chosen their victim _very_ unwisely.

A slither of yellow light cut across the laminate, spilling out from the crack beneath the bathroom door. The only light in the entire apartment. The whole situation was making her feel uneasy; how had today gone so very wrong?

Creak.

The footstep from behind sounded so suddenly she barely had time to react.

_Thank God for that bloody loose board. _

She thrust her knife-wielding arm backwards waiting for the gratuitous feeling as it slid smoothly into weak flesh, but whoever the intruder was they were just a little too quick for her. A large tanned hand caught her wrist, twisting it to the point of breaking. The knife dropped harmlessly to the floor, the point tickling the lateral side of her arch. The hand didn't seem to relinquish its hold on her arm for a second but then it was around her waist and joined by another equally as strong. She didn't struggle much, just enough to avoid looking suspicious…._think __your __way __out__…__.._it took up vital energy.

_Scarred__ knuckles_, she noted, _not __that __unusual __if __a__ seasoned__ criminal_-and she used the phrase lightly.

"You should know better than to have your back to a doorway," a coarse voice sounded from in front of her; she turned her eyes forward and fixed them on the tall, broad figure silhouetted by the yellow light spilling from the bathroom.

The hands….no.  
>But the voice. She recognised that voice.<p>

Her feeble wriggling intensified as she forced her whole body weight upon her captor, because if he was here then maybe…._Please__ God. __Please._


	4. Chapter 4

**Keep Breathing**  
><strong>Chapter 4<strong>

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><p>Molly grew more relentless in her fight against the arms that bound her, all the while pleading with whatever higher power was present in the universe-God, Satan…it barely mattered.<p>

She didn't dare look down the hallway into the pool of light spilling through the open door of the bathroom in case…._just_ in case….

"Mikey."

She froze.

"Be gentle."

The iron bars around her chest loosened just a little but the pressure in her chest did not dissipate, instead it increased to the point where she felt she could no longer breathe. She felt the man behind her shuffle his feet-_idiot_-and used the split second when he was slightly off balance to slam all her weight into one shoulder.  
>Mikey, whoever he was, was barely fast enough to prevent them both collapsing in a heap.<p>

She was free.

"Don't."

A hand hit her lightly on the shoulder then withdrew rapidly.

She turned, narrowing her eyes as she observed the olive skin, handsome eyes and the large uneven chunk missing from his right cheek.

_New_, she concluded with a grimace and one not born out of pity,_what__ sort __of __half-wits __were __they__ being __forced __to __employ __these__ days?_

"Go and check we weren't followed."

The young man hurried off, footsteps echoing loudly in the dark and door banging violently as he left.

_Bet he goes down to the street, numbskull._  
><span>But<span> he was obedient and that could be a highly redeeming feature.  
>Not that obedience was much good without a leader...A sharp edged lump rose in her throat, it felt as if someone were trying to cut through her oesophagus.<p>

Spinning back on her heel her narrowed eyes pierced the silhouetted man before her waiting for an answer to an unspoken question.

"Why do you always have to keep this place so dark Molly?" he asked as he brushed past her into the living room, clapping his hands.  
>The lights rose and his true form materialised out of the gloom, as large and imposing as ever. But Molly wasn't one to scare easily. She glared as he dropped down onto the couch, propping his bare feet up on the coffee table and resting his head back against his palms with a sigh.<p>

"Seb."

"Something you wanted Molly?"

_Infuriating, absolutely bloody infuriating. _

She rounded on him.

"Seb."

Something must have changed in her voice, the smirk vanished and his fingers began to pick absent-mindedly at the shrapnel-marks on his hand; silence was suffocating her. Slowly he gathered himself up, standing with his feet apart and hand on his waist, fingers fondling an edge barely visible beneath his shirt._  
>A knife? In case she snapped when he gave her the bad news, or to stop her launching herself on him in joy….he needn't worry about that. <em>

"He's alive Molly…."

She sighed. The relief was fantastic and horrifying, reducing her brain to one word contemplations that frankly weren't worthy of a goldfish.

"But he's not in a good way, wasn't blown all the way clear as he'd calculated."

If she'd had more strength she would have hit him; how dare he even imply that! Wrong? He _never_ got his calculations wrong.

"I looked everywhere for you." She sounded breathless even to her own ears.

"Had to take him somewhere new, didn't know if they tracked down any of our usual places."

"But he's alive?"

Nod.

Her feet padded softly over the boards, they felt cool and firm, a welcome anchor for her reckless and unstable emotions.

The sound of flesh on flesh also helped as her hand left a burning red mark on his shower-damp cheek. His fingers jerked towards his waistband revealing a flash of silver tucked neatly against his tanned skin, but with a split second pause he seemed to think better of it.

"Why on earth were you wasting time having a shower!"  
>The words sounded ridiculous, like the whining of some immature, spoiled school girl. The relief was sending all the panic spilling out of her in a fiery waterfall and Seb was the only target she could find.<p>

"You weren't around Molly and a man's got to find something to do whilst he's waiting," she scowled, "besides I didn't think turning up covered in blood would make for a very nice reunion."

She gulped.

Another slap.

It was a slightly hysterical reaction she knew but she doubted Seb could feel her weak palm underneath this calloused skin, she doubted he could feel any kind of sensation-other than sadistic joy-at all.

"Take me to him. Take me to him NOW!"

Seb analysed her for a second, his eyes scanning every taunt line of her face, every patch of colour in her cheeks…he'd learnt quite a lot in the time she'd known him. At any other time she may have even been a little proud of the ex-marine.

Not now.

Standing here was wasting precious minutes and Molly had never been able to abide time wasters, even back in the days of primary school when she'd ripped out the hair of the annoying priest's daughter, who had asked questions just to distract the teacher.

"A malicious attack," the teacher had called it.

Molly had just insisted she was saving her time; she'd gone without food that night.

Then, quite surprisingly Seb bowed his head, the separate hand prints on either side of his nose comical.

"Whatever you want ma'am."


	5. Chapter 5

**Keep Breathing  
>Chapter 5<strong>

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><p><em>Too slow. Why aren't we moving faster?<em>

Despite her inner protests she padded along behind Seb silently, part of her desperate to reach their destination, the other wishing to avoid it at all costs. The words the ex-marine had used earlier were swimming round and round in her head-_'__not __in __a__ good __way__'__-_from a man that had observed death in its most gruesome forms the phrase was not particularly comforting.

Seb drew to a halt so suddenly that her feet carried her forward three paces and she had to backtrack her way to the door.

She reached for the handle, scolding herself for the shaking of her fingers but Sebastian's hand closed over it first.

"He's knocked out at the moment Molly. Doctor's said it was kinder."

_Kinder! _

"More like they're scared of him." she growled. Her hand encircled Seb's gripping the door handle through the sheet of flesh, bone and muscle.  
>They were probably revelling in it; finally having control over their raging master. She would ensure every one of them met a slow and very painful end.<p>

Her intentions were obviously clear in her eyes as Seb's lips twitched, forming a fleeting smile.

"Are you sure you want to see this?"

Her nails were biting into his pock-marked skin; she could see the tiny red crescents where they were drawing blood. The panic was fading fast, replaced with the orange flames of rage with which she felt far more comfortable; she could use anger to her advantage, someone _very_ important had taught her that a long time before. She narrowed her eyes to slits and stared at him.

"Stop being such a gentleman Sebastian, I spend all day with corpses…."

She stopped as those awful images from before began to creep from the dark corners of her mind.

_He's alive stupid girl. ALIVE!_  
>She screamed the words internally, hating herself for being so damned weak.<p>

He was a human being, an insignificant speck in this infinite universe with all its stars and planets and empty space….but to her he was and always had been the entire world.

Seb was staring at her with that infuriating expression again, his cold eyes appraising every tiny flicker of emotion that marred her face. It made her furious; furious that he dare use the methods they had taught him against them…never again.

And with her anger spurring her on, she shoved his fingers away from the cold metal handle, pushed him back against the wall and stormed through the door.

Inside the room was dimly light, the shadows cast by the muted bulbs were stretched and distorted; Molly was instantly thrown back to her childhood and memories of screaming in the dark as a large monster stalked after her, only his bared teeth visible. She scrambled back to the corner of the room, arms wrapped around her torso as her breathing came in short, sharp gasps; sometimes the images were more life-like than reality.

Where was he? The one who would always come and chase away the nightmares, the one who would hold her shaking, bruised form once the monster had finished its attack.  
>Where the bloody hell was he?<p>

"Are you all right Molly?"

She swallowed, hoping that her voice wouldn't crack; that would not be acceptable.

At what point had Seb followed her into the room?

Peeling herself from the magnolia paint she gave a forced smile though she didn't look back, her fingers were clutching the lining of her pockets, securing herself to the ugly, floral material as if her life depended on it.

"Never better."

Her eyes scanned the room and fixed upon the narrow, hospital-issue bed on the other side of the shadow-filled void. There was a human shaped lump lying under the sparse sheets, identity was visually indeterminable from where she was but she didn't need to see those familiar features to know.

_That__'__s __why,_she reminded herself harshly, _that__'__s __why __he__'__s __not __here. __Because __some __bastard __did __this __to __him._

Inch by inch she eased herself across the empty space, Sebastian's eyes never leaving her back as she drew level with the bed. She felt her heart palpitate wildly in her chest and her respiratory rate pick up again.

"I'll go and get one of the doctors," the voice was as cold and hard as ever, not revealing an ounce of the awkwardness she knew the man was experiencing; Sebastian was not one for signs of affection, his own ange of emotion limited to biting humour, sadistic joy and total indifference. He was a machine made purely for the production of pain; Molly had seen his handiwork too many times to count and she had to admit that it made him _very_ good at what he did.

The door banged shut just as her fingers curled their way around his, the noise quickly swallowed up by the deep silence and for the first time since she had entered the room she allowed herself to survey the prone body beside her.

_2 broken ribs…maybe 3….one punctured the left lung. _

_Distal radial fracture. _

_Trauma to the cervical region of the spine. _

_Minor internal bleeding. _

_Superficial injuries in keeping with being caught at the periphery of an explosion. _

She reeled the list off to herself grimly; but it could have been worse, far worse…he could have….but he wasn't and therefore she shouldn't even be thinking about that.

His face was bruised and swollen but worse-far, far worse- it was still, completely and utterly motionless. It sent waves of agony through her. He was _always_ animated, the lines of his face _always_ burning with energy; it made her feel alive, especially on those mornings when death seemed preferable to the dull cycle of work.

Not now.

He was so still he might as well have been dead.

Her fingers pressed harder against the skin of his palm, he was as cold as a corpse too.

She had to feel his pulse just to reassure herself, but beneath his pale, waxy skin his blood thumped powerful and stubborn. She smiled; it was so typical of him. Sometimes she was sure he did it just to prove how much she cared.

Slowly and very gently she eased herself up onto the edge of the bed, kicking off her heels and swinging her legs up.  
>When the doctor arrived she would inform them that they were to stop administering the sedatives. He would prefer that; the pain was a small price to pay for being out of the control of those spineless idiots. And then she would look after him and once everything was back to the way it should be she would kill the two bastards who had had the nerve to try and destroy the very thing she lived for.<p> 


	6. Chapter 6

**Keep Breathing  
>Chapter 6<strong>

* * *

><p>The first thing Jim noticed as he woke was how much it hurt to breathe. He sucked the cool refreshing oxygen in through his teeth trying to ignore the searing inferno in his chest.<p>

_Must__ have __punctured __a __lung, _he concluded as the next lungful burned even more, _fantastic._

He shifted trying to gauge whether a different position would make ventilation slightly easier. It didn't.

He groaned.

Instantly another part of his body woke to sensation, this time the feeling of gentle pressure on his wrist.  
>With another groan he took in a third mouthful of air and was this time rewarded with something he recognised, a scent that beneath the floral perfume and sharpness of rubbing alcohol belonged to him entirely. His throat felt like sandpaper when he swallowed, consuming the smell; it would give him the strength he needed as it always had before.<p>

White light invaded every one of his senses as his eyes flickered open, it was all he could see and the strange blank scent of it hovered around his head. He lifted an arm to his head swiping at the hazy cloud; his limbs were leaden and horribly weak. _Must__ be __the __drugs__…__damn__ those __doctors._

Something warm stilled his hand, he clutched at the gentle heat desperately, using it as a lever to pull himself out of the all-encompassing whiteness and back into reality.

The room he found himself in was unimpressive and dimly lit, he couldn't see into the corners, couldn't see the door he presumed was on the other side of the space. He scowled; had he been caught?

He shifted against the thin mattress his body protesting in a shooting pain up the left side of his chest, gasping he stopped immediately.

"Stop moving you great idiot."

_Can't have been caught. _

He tried to respond, the sharp witty reply on the tip of his tongue but the words would not form themselves into recognisable shapes; instead he mumbled incoherently then coughed. A figure appeared in the corner of his eyes, instantly known, his lips twitched up into a smile. He watched as her expression mirrored his.

"Doctor's orders are that you must try and stay still, rest."

"Never been one to follow orders," he croaked out, his voice finally returning to him, even as his movements quietened.

The figure hummed thoughtfully for a moment, their eyes boring into him.

"I ask you to do this."

It was amazing how rapidly her voice could shift, the entire meaning changing with a vague shift of key. The softness spoke of worry, the slightly flat drop to the ends of some of the vowels insinuating hidden grief and the barest hint of a relieved smile on the last word. He had not seen her this worried in a long while.

His mind whirred back he-didn't-know-how-many hours.

_The pool, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, a gunshot, an explosion, pain, blood, darkness. _

Jim groaned but this time not out of pain. He stopped moving.

The bed dipped slightly as she set herself down on the edge beside him, he watched as her fingers curled around his own tight enough to cut off his circulation.

"Were you worried about me Mol?"

Her pale digits clenched even harder around his momentarily then slackened, a forced chuckle followed; she was always so good at hiding her emotions…except when it came to him. His lips twitched again.

"Worried about you," her voice was a fraction too quiet, "You certainly hold yourself in high esteem if you think I'd waste precious processing power worrying about you."

Slowly he turned his head, hoping she would not scold him for the necessary movement; he needed to see her, to reassure her he was fine; she must have been in agony for the hours he had been unconscious and he hated himself just a little for putting her through it. He'd promised to protect her and had failed far too many times for his liking.

"I'm fine Mol," he rasped, fingers creeping up to grasp at her wrist, "I'm fine."

"You could have died."

The statement was almost inaudible; the intonation almost broke his heart.

"I'm alive."

"I could have lost you," her voice cracked as she buried her head into his neck, her tears scalding against his cool flesh, "Promise me you won't leave me ever. Promise me."

Pain was coursing through his ribcage, her side pressing against one-or more-of his broken ribs. But he wouldn't say anything, not now, not when she needed this and he had already failed to shield her. Instead he bit back the cries clawing their way up his raw throat, his teeth gritted together and his undamaged arm threading itself around her waist. He tried to hum to her as he had back when they were children but his sandpaper mouth just made the notes sound scratchy and uneven.

"Oh Mol sweetheart," he whispered into her hair as she sobbed against his shoulder, his toes curled into the mattress as the pain across his chest increased, not merely from the broken state of his body, "My little Molly, don't cry. I'm alive. I'm not going to leave, how would I ever leave you? Never Mol never. Don't cry sweetheart. Don't cry."

* * *

><p>"He chose the pool. Why did he choose the pool?" Molly questioned, she was curled up beside Jim who had just been given a dose of pain medication-<em>and<em>_ about __time __too-_and so was sat up, flicking through some report Seb had bought in a few moments before, an array of IV leads still hung from his arm, one protruding from beneath his silken pyjama top-_no __hospital __gown __for __Moriarty-_draining his chest cavity as his lung healed.

"What? Ummmm. Pardon?"

"Sherlock chose the pool to meet you," Molly repeated flatly snatching the sheaves of paper from his fingers. Jim hid his smirk behind his hands, scratching at his chin, "Why?"

"Surely you can work it out."

She scowled then gave a large sigh.

"Carl? It was about Carl wasn't it? The young man, the one who told the police it wasn't an accident, the one who was snooping around the pool at Godforsaken hours of the day…it was Sherlock?"

The man stretched his neck over and placed a kiss on the young woman's cheek.

"Got it in one."

She settled down again looking just a little pleased with herself and handed the document back to him.

His fingers grasped the edges and pulled the printed font in front of his face but his mind was lost, drifting back to that terrifying time when he had come close, so close, to losing her.


	7. Chapter 7

**Keep Breathing  
>Chapter 7<strong>

* * *

><p>Jim slid his key smoothly into the lock, twisting it and allowing the door to swing smoothly open before him, just as if he had never been away. He stepped over the threshold taking the time to glance around the flat as he dropped his heavy backpack, leaving it by the door for him to pick up later. Unpacking could wait; he had more important things to be doing. Without turning he stuck his leg out behind him and pushed the door shut, it locked with a satisfying click.<p>

"Molly?" he called, "Molly I'm back!"

There was no response; the silence seemed to pulsate around him.

"Molly! I have presents for you." he chorused using his gentlest voice despite the anger that was beginning to bubble away in the pit of his stomach.

_Where the bloody hell was she? She should be there, sitting alone on the sofa staring at old pictures of the two of them, reminiscing….missing him. _

He twisted his hands into the light cotton of his trousers as his stomach lurched.

_Had__ something__ happened __to __her?__ Had __someone __tracked __him__ down __and__ finding __him__ gone __decided__ to __seek __retribution__ on __his __little __Molly __instead?_  
>His hands twisted deeper into the fabric, his knuckles digging into his thigh. <em><br>If __so__ they __would __pay__…__as__ would __all __their __family __and __friends__ and __everyone __in __the __entire __world._

"Molly! Molly! Molly!" he screamed into the empty flat over and over, his shouts reverberating off the walls; he had no doubt that the neighbours would complain.

Nothing. He didn't know why he expected anything else.

Sinking into the faded couch, it had been new when he'd left, he curled his legs up beneath him and drummed a pattern on his sternum…dundun…dundun..dundun…Molly….Molly….Molly.

The sound of raised voices just outside the door woke Jim around five hours later.  
>The London skyline out of the window had darkened to a deep blue-black and the flat was shrouded in darkness. He yawned, straining his ears to make out the voices that were shouting….no, laughing…on the other side of the reinforced door-<em>a <em>_criminal __mastermind __couldn__'__t __take __too__ many__ chances, __especially __not __with__ Molly __at __risk._

A long, high pitched giggle pierced through the steel plating and Jim smiled. His happiness faded however as a low, distinctly male voice sounded afterwards the sharp edges of the words lost so they were just an indiscernible mumble.

Keys jingled, the lock clicked and Molly stumbled in her hair windswept and cheeks flushed pink by the chill, autumn wind. But more importantly her lips attached to those of a young, blonde haired boy.

Something hot and dangerous roared to life in his chest.  
>He cleared his throat as calmly as possible and peeled himself off the sofa, pleased to see that Molly's eyes still lit up as she spied him across the room.<p>

"JIM! You're home!"

She was upon him before he had time to say anything, her arms around his neck and feet dangling just a few centimetres off the floor. He breathed her in.

Molly, his Molly.

He had missed her desperately.

"Did you bring me back any presents?" he chuckled though it didn't quite come from the heart and leaned forward to press a quick kiss to her nose all the while aware of the fair stranger watching them from the open doorway. Jim wished he would close it; didn't he realise that they were all a target?

"Perhaps. Aren't you going to introduce me to your…" he forced down the nausea as he recalled the way the couple had fell into the room, too wrapped up in each other to notice his presence, "…friend?" he finally popped out between his lips.

The young man took a step forward, the door was still wide open, and stretched out a hand towards Jim whose frown only deepened his right arm staying exactly where it was, wrapped around Molly's shoulders.

"There no need Mr Moriarty," _annoying __voice,__silly__ floppy __haircut, __smug__ little __smile_, "Mol's told me all about you."

_Mol? How dare this ignorant, prissy, little sod call her that name!_

Jim took in a deep breath and smoothed out the hard creases that had formed around his mouth, knowing that Molly was watching him and that she could read everything that was spiralling around in his head.  
>He shrugged.<p>

"Well I'm sorry but I don't have a clue who you are."

Beside him Molly tensed; he would have felt terrible for causing her distress if it wasn't for the continued smugness that sat on the young man's features it did however stop him from reaching out and wiping away every trace of him, because he could do that as easily as he could count to three.

"James," Molly growled, "be nice. This is Carl. He's my….." she paused and he met her eyes, their brown eyes locked in a staring contest like they were children again, "…friend."

"Boyfriend," Carl piped in moving to Molly's other side and placing a hand on the small of her back. Jim barely managed to contain his snarl, "I'm her boyfriend."

"I see," Moriarty turned on his heel and stretched his back out like a cat who had just woken up from a nap, yawning widely, "Well it was very nice to meet you," he turned back to stare at Carl, eyes narrowed and voice dropping to a low rumble, "Carl."

The boy seemed to sway on the spot for a second, that pleased Jim greatly.

Molly was instantly turning to her boyfriend, no doubt having noticed the gleam in his eyes and recognised it as a very, very bad sign, she was already dragging Carl to the door as he turned his back again.

"I'll see you soon," she whispered.

"Tomorrow?"

_Pushy bastard, wait until I show him that patience costs nothing. _

"Soon. Bye."

With the door shut and the steel safely positioned between them and the rest of the world Jim relaxed a little, everything would be perfect if it wasn't for this young man, this Carl. He swallowed another snarl.

"You could have been nicer."

She rounded on him with a frown and balled up fists.

"He's an idiot."

_And he doesn't deserve you._

"An arrogant…."

_No-one __deserves __you._

"….rude…."

_You're mine Molly. No-one else's, just mine. Always. _

….stupid…."

At her next words Jim felt his heart stop.

"I think I'm in love with him."

* * *

><p>Jim tried not to say anything even as Molly's presence at home and work got less and less; they barely had time to plan or work and certainly had no time for pleasant conversation. He seemed to spend most of his time alone.<p>

Of course he could get rid of the nuisance with a snap of his fingers, anyone of his men would do it they wouldn't dare not to. Then why on earth didn't he!

It was that smile.

He would do _anything_ to keep a smile fixed on her lips and despite loathing it with every molecule in his body Carl really did seem to make Molly happy. So he kept the oath he'd made that night when he was ten; her smile, the single, fragile barrier that kept him from stretching out his hands whenever Powers was in the vicinity and personally wringing the life from him.

However his animosity made it somewhat easier _that_ evening when the boy arrived to pick up Molly. She had been preparing herself for hours: make-up, new dress, new shoes, hair…and was stood waiting in the living room, a smile plastered all over her flushed face.

Jim noticed it as soon as he opened the door: the scent of woman's perfume oozing from every pore, the newly forming bruise peeking from just below the lip of his shirt and the remnants of a post-coital glow still staining his cheeks. Hands clenching around the door handle Jim let him in momentarily relishing in the idea that he would finally be able to eliminate the cocky sod from their lives. He watched silently as Carl swaggered forward, slipping his arm around Molly's waist and leading her out of the door with a passing nod, his eyes bright, no doubt due to the knowledge of his seemingly undetected infidelity.

_It__ won__'__t __be__ unknown__ for __much __longer, _Moriarty sung to himself. He would need to be very gentle about how he approached the subject with Molly; she would at first be devastated. But after the initial tantrum, disbelief and rage it would be back to the way it should be, just them. They had never needed anyone else before, this time was no different.

* * *

><p>SMASH!<p>

Jim jumped up from his seat as the sound of shattering porcelain met his ears, his fingers jammed down instinctively on his computer keys typing a nonsense string of letters at the bottom of the email.

SMASH! CRASH!

He sighed, setting himself back down in his chair and quickly erasing the error.

There was no doubt in his mind the cause for the din.  
>Carl had obviously come clean about the affair and one of them had left: Jim hoped for her sake it had been Molly and now the young woman was taking out her frustration on the living room. He'd leave her to it, she could be rather nasty when she was angry and Jim had no qualms in believing he would come out worse off if he walked into the middle of the flying china and upturned furniture. Better to let her vent and then begin planning the little shit's demise; he had some rather spectacular ideas already.<p>

CLICK!

The sound of a gun being loaded was unmistakable in the sudden silence following the pained screams of objects as they broke against floor and ceiling.

Jim was up in a flash, sprinting out of his study as fast as his legs would carry him.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing Mol!" he cried, flying to her side and yanking the gun from her steady hands, removing the cartridges and throwing the empty weapon over his shoulder. It clattered loudly against the wall.

Molly's face was red and tear stained, the skin around her eyes swollen and sodden and yet she did not tremble, not in the slightest.

Jim loosened the grip on her arms; he'd been wrong.

She had not been turning the gun on herself….

"I'm going to kill him!"

….quite the opposite.

_My thoughts exactly. _

"He was cheating on me all this bloody time…..and you know the worst thing, I didn't even notice."

Her hands clutched at his shoulders painfully, her sharp nails scoring into his skin through his shirt but the pain was rewarding. He pulled her to him, tucking her smaller frame beneath his chin, his hands skimming her hair.

"Hush," she was shaking now, "It happens to everyone; even the smartest of us have a weakness."

"Not you."

_Especially __me __Mols._ He corrected silently and tightened his hold on her.  
>When would she realise that she was everything to him, that she had been the Sun his world revolved around since that night when he was ten years old and he had watched…? he swallowed. That night had changed everything; it had sent him spiralling madly out of childhood and thrown him where he was standing now with half of Europe at his mercy. He would not change it for anything, not even to save the life that had been lost that evening.<p>

"I just thought I'd found someone who actually cared…." his thoughts dissipated as Molly began to talk again, her voice having become the perfect frequency for his brain to tune into long ago, "…who wanted me."

"You don't need someone Molly you have me."

She was silent for a moment.

"It's not the same Jim."

Her words were like a kick in the gut.

Never before had she expressed any sort of malcontent in 'just them'.  
>It had always been that way- Molly and Jim against the world.<p>

He should never have gone travelling, or he should have at least insisted she come, dragging her with him if necessary: perhaps then they wouldn't be in this mess. Yes he blamed himself. But more so he blamed Carl with his wavy blonde hair, pretty blue eyes and smug little voice; he'd given Molly a taste of another life, a life free from secrets and danger and death, a life she apparently preferred.

Jim felt sick.

He pulled her closer even though he could feel her slipping away with each passing moment. He would make the bastard pay for this.

* * *

><p>They planned it meticulously. Molly had been insistent and despite Jim's worry over her being directly involved he had yielded, he always did when she was concerned.<p>

They were both at the pool on the day: Jim sitting in the stands pretending to be the friend of one of the swimmers, enjoying the extended lie he was living out under the gaze of so many, while Molly stood in the shadows of the pool side, her slight figure unnoticed by the judges and trainers. She had calculated her position with absolute precision, basing her judgement on the average speed of Carl's strokes, the lag period between administration and action of the toxin, water density, temperature…..after all she wanted to be the last person Carl saw as he slipped beneath the surface, she wanted him to know.

And when it came to the pinnacle moment, as his body started to spasm and sink and the crowd began to scream, Jim watched with satisfaction as Carl's head jerked in Molly's direction.

He had humiliated her, but she had killed him.

He smiled inwardly as Powers disappeared under the rippling surface and the screams around him grew shriller.

In a flurry Powers was hauled from the blue water-dead on arrival of course, Jim never took any chances with loose ends-the police arrived, statements were given all under false names and the two were free to leave, merely innocent bystanders to a tragic accident.

A little way from the pool he took her hand and looked down into her tightly-lined face, his expression raising the query that had been eating away at him for the past thirty three days, eleven hours and fifty seven minutes.

_Just us Mol? _

The smile he received in reply was better than he could have hoped, the creases at the edges of her eyes whispering lovingly: _always __big __brother, __always._


	8. Chapter 8

**Keep Breathing  
>Chapter 8<strong>

* * *

><p>"Your lung is healing very nicely Mr Moriarty sir…" the doctor stumbled over his words momentarily, his sudden nervousness making him slip and press his fingers just a little too hard against one of his fractured ribs. Jim hissed.<br>On the other side of the bed Mol watched with narrowed eyes, her stare piercing through the doctor's head right between his eyes.

_If looks could kill his brains would be splattered against the opposite wall. _

The older man pulled back rapidly his Adam's apple bobbing and face turning a rather peculiar colour. It was not unknown for people to become physically ill under Jim's cold stare and with Molly glaring in her own murderously-protective way it was no surprise the man appeared faint. His sister could be quite terrifying when she wanted to be.

The doctor leaned down again but his hands stayed a good distance away from any part of Jim's body.

"I'm slightly worried about this clavicular fracture; I think it's going to need pinning."

Jim gritted his teeth together. He hated this, all this aching and fussing and having to 'rest'. He didn't want to rest he wanted to be out in the city planning his next move in the dizzying game.

He caught Molly barking an order to the doctor who glanced sheepishly in his direction, Jim nodded, he had learned to follow her advice in these sort of matters-he hadn't paid for her to study medicine without gaining the right to reap some of the benefits. The doctor said something about coming back in an hour to prepare him for surgery-_marvellous-_and then hurried out as fast as his little legs would carry him.

"You'll never find a husband if you act like that," Jim chuckled.

"I don't need a husband," she replied more sharply than he expected, "I've got you and you cause quite enough hassle thank you very much."

A little smirk curled up the edges of her mouth and she took hold of his good hand squeezing his fingers as if to check he was definitely there. He squeezed back twice as if it were a game from their childhood, it made her giggle.

"I reckon if the doctor fixes you up this evening we might be able to get you home in a few days."

Jim shuddered slightly.

Though he would be more than happy to go home he was, in truth, a little apprehensive about going under the knife while it was held in the quivering hands of Doctor Williams.

From even before she was qualified he had attempted to get Molly to treat him but his pleas had been met with a resounding 'NO' every time.

"_But __why __not __Mol?__"_  
>"<em>No Jim. It's not proper. You're not supposed to treat family members you know that."<em>  
>"<em>As if we do anything 'properly'!"<em>  
>"<em>No."<em>  
>"<em>You're the only person I trust Molly, you should feel honoured that I'm asking you."<em>  
>"<em>I do not enjoy the idea of being up to my elbows in your internal organs. If anything were to go wrong…I'm not doing it James and that's final." <em>

So far he had survived the various operations and drugs the countless doctors had plied him with. But he knew one day they would fuck it up.

"I know you hate hospitals," she continued.

_It __was __true __but __this __is __not __as__ bad__ as __the __last __time, _he thought to himself wondering if she was remembering too, _at __least __it __was__ his __blood__ staining __the __bandages._

He clenched his fists in the sheets, his stomach churning in a way that which was not associated with the drugs or his lack of nutrition. _  
>Damn <em>_doctors. __Damn __Sherlock. __Damn __himself._

He had always despised hospitals ever since he was a boy. But after his previous visit, after seeing his own sister in one of the ugly, metal-framed beds attached to IV leads, the crack he had made in her skull red and angry he loathed them with an all-consuming passion.

He could still recall it all as clearly as if it happened yesterday: receiving the news that the most lucrative deal of the year had been bought down by an incompetent Yard detective and a young amateur, the sensation of his blood boiling in his veins as he'd ordered they give him names so he could erase them both from the face of the planet. It had felt like he was burning up from the inside out.

Molly had been behind him, comforting him, but her words had only made him angrier.

Defeated by an amateur: he! The greatest criminal in English history!

He'd lashed out before he'd even realised what he was doing.

The next thing he knew Molly was lying at the bottom of the narrow flight of stairs, one of her legs bent at a hideous angle and a lake of scarlet blood pooling around her head.

His phone had vibrated in his hand as someone had pushed past his frozen figure, he answered it and felt the name scorch a mark in his memory: Sherlock Holmes.

The vendetta had been cemented that day and Jim's hatred only swelled as he waited impatiently at Mol's bedside; his only comfort was the steady beep of the machine, telling him that despite her bloodless appearance her heart was strong and wild as ever.

When she woke the next morning she insisted she could not remember a thing and instead apologised for being so clumsy; Jim hadn't corrected her then or since although a large part of him was sure she knew exactly what had happened. Jim's guilt however was not so easily erased and he remained at her beck and call throughout her recovery. Only Seb had the courage to moan about his lack of focus over those months and unfortunately he was far too valuable to shut up permanently….not that Jim had let him get away with it completely unscathed, he had a reputation after all and Seb expected nothing less.

Once she was back on her feet-literally-Jim had put every kilojoule of energy he had into beginning the slow and humiliating annihilation of one Sherlock Holmes.


	9. Chapter 9

**Keep Breathing  
>Chapter 9<strong>

* * *

><p>Molly hated her 'job' more than ever; it was ridiculous to be wasting hours watching over corpses at Bart's when her brother needed her at home.<br>If it wasn't for Jim's insistence that it was necessary for the next stage of the game she would have handed in her resignation days ago, but she trusted her brother completely and so gritted her teeth and bore it.

On her way back one evening the cab driver-Jim never let her take public transport-decided he was going to take more than his fair share of her cash and looped around the city centre in the longest 'shortcut' Molly had ever had the displeasure of experiencing: she just wanted to get home. It took her all the strength she had not to pull out the scalpel she had sewn into the lining of her coat, slit his throat and drive herself back. She was fingering the uneven stitching as something outside caught her eye, she raised a hand to catch the young cabbie's attention.

"Can you stop here please?"

The vehicle pulled up at the curb and jolted to a halt. Molly reached for the door handle, her eyes fixed on the view outside even as the driver told her he would not wait for her and that she owed him £22.

She handed him two twenties not bothering to wait for her change as the door swung open and she stepped out into the chill, London air.

Beside her the car pulled roughly away, the clutch grinding as it did so.

Molly stepped across the rubble-strewn pavement, glancing around to check no-one of importance was watching before slipping under the yellow and black, police tape onto the debris where the old leisure centre had once stood.

Standing there amongst the dust and cracked pieces of concrete Molly was suddenly reminded of how close she had come to losing James. The water had been drained from the pool-_health__ and __safety __rubbish__ no __doubt_-which only added to the sense of empty devastation hanging in the air.

She took in a deep, shuddering breath falling to her knees amongst the pulverised bricks and mortar, the metal girders that had once held up the structure no more than useless, twisted blobs of steel.

It was miracle he had survived; an absolute, bloody miracle.

Her stomach churned, a vein pulsed in her temple and her fingers quivered as she reached down and grasped a small piece of rubble in her hand; it was vaguely warm with the remnants of a scarlet stain on one sharp corner: _Jim__'__s __blood? __Or__ that __of __one__ of __the__ two __idiots __who __had __nearly __left __her __alone __in__ the __world?_

She clenched her little fist around the stone; it didn't matter, if she had anything to do with it, before long Sherlock and his little friend wouldn't have any more blood left to shed, she would drain them of every single drop and take immense pleasure in doing it.


	10. Chapter 10

**Keeping Breathing  
>Chapter 10<strong>

* * *

><p>It was with the same burning desire for revenge that Molly found herself stood in the shadows of a deserted corridor of St Bart's. A code blue-completely coincidental of course-had distracted the attention of the resident doctors and nurses; she calculated she had around five minutes and twenty eight seconds before they ventured back.<p>

_Plenty of time for what she had planned._

She cast a quick glance to the security camera overhead, the red light was dead.

Everything was going precisely to plan.

Silently she crept across the open space and into the room opposite, proving just why her father had nicknamed her 'Molly the mouse', she shuddered; why was she thinking of _him_ just before her great triumph?

John Watson lay snoozing against his pillows, his face was paler than usual and dotted with scratches and bruises but other than that he was undamaged.

_He__ escaped __better __off __than__ Jim_, she thought bitterly, grinding her teeth together in a very unladylike fashion. James would have scolded her had he been there.

She scowled, John had been a nuisance since the day he'd arrived; it would give her great joy to dispose of him without even considering the pain it would case Sherlock; that was an added bonus.

AHEM!  
>She coughed and shook the mattress a little with one hand.<p>

The man shifted, his forehead creasing and a groan passing from between his chapped lips before he bolted up-right.

"What the…!" his movements slowed as his eyes focused and he caught sight of her, he sighed. _  
>Stupid<em>_ thing __didn__'__t __have __a__ clue __what __was __happening._

"Oh Molly," she watched as he fumbled to pick up the smart, silver watch from the bedside table…a present from Sherlock, "What's the time! I…." he looked at the clock face his eyes widening as he noted the early hour, "….oh….bloody hell….What is it! What's happened?" the genuine horror of his face made Molly feel all warm inside, "Sherlock!"

She raised her palms to face him as a symbol of peace.

"He's just fine," she explained, using the sickly sweet voice John would recognise from early mornings and late nights at the morgue…_for __now._  
>"Just paying a social visit Dr Watson."<p>

He looked at the watch again and frowned, clearly annoyed at her timing.  
>Well it wasn't like she could murder him in broad daylight with all the day shift passing by outside was it?<p>

She pulled the best sulking face she could, even James in one of his foulest moods would have melted at the sight of her pouting lips and desperately sad eyes.

"Oh, you're not happy to see me."

He sighed and forced on a grin.  
>"No, no, of course I am Molly."<p>

She smirked, but it wasn't the usual one she wore in the workplace. This was the one identical to her brother's, the one her mother used to tell her off for wearing, the one that spoke of malice and cruelty.

John sunk back into the pillows just a little.

"If I were you I wouldn't be happy to see me," she turned and drew the curtain over the door slowly, "Let's have a nice little chat shall we?"

"What do you want to talk about Molly?"

She watched as one of the doctor's hands slipped beneath the bed sheets, his thumb pressing down against the button that should alert a nurse to his need.

"Oh," she said, her smile growing wider and she wagged her finger back and forth like a teacher, "I wouldn't bother with that, I disconnected it while you were sleeping."

The shocked expression on John's face was utterly priceless; he'd obviously never seen this coming.

"Did that surprise you John?" she giggled, "I can call you John can't I? You didn't expect Molly with her pink jumpers and sensible shoes…" she glanced down at the ugly clogs adorning her feet with intense hatred, "…to be capable of something like this did you?"

She hoped her vague references were scaring him, she wanted him terrified.

"Molly," he chuckled but it caught in his throat, the muscles in his face and neck had hardened, "this is crazy. If this is about Jim…."

"Of course it's about Jim," she snapped more angrily than she'd expected. How dare this filthy little man even speak his name, after all the pain he had caused!

"Sherlock didn't mean to hurt you; he thought he was being kind in his own…deluded way!"

Molly threw her head back and laughed.

"You really are slow aren't you! How can Sherlock even bear to have you around? It's painful! This has nothing to do with what happened that evening! This has to do with the fact that I nearly lost…." her throat closed up, she coughed, "…that you nearly killed him! And I can't let you get away with that."

She laughed again, twirling a strand of hair around one finger absent-mindedly. All this talking was boring, she wanted action!

"Molly please," she looked at him, surveying the emotions expressed on his face: _flushed__ skin, __dilated __pupils, __shallow __breathing, __twitching__ muscles__…__either __John__ Watson __was __extremely __turned__ on __or __he __was __going__ into __flight __or __fight__ mode._"This is insane. _He's_ insane! You've got to get away from him Molly or he'll..."

She held a finger up to her lips. He fell silent as if an invisible hand had gagged him and then sagged against the pillows, defeated.

_Gooooooood,_she sang in her head, _now __he __was __getting__ the __picture_.

"It's all right Doctor Watson…John….really it is," she drew a hypodermic syringe out of her pocket, its long, sharp tip glinting under the harsh fluorescents, "You won't feel a thing."

She giggled as she advanced on him, her eyes fixed hungrily on the tanned skin of his upper arm.

John shuffled back in his bed tucking his knees up to his chest and making his body as small as possible but there was nowhere for him to go, no escape and he knew it; she could see it in his eyes.

"Best not to struggle," she cooed softly as she slid the needle through the thin layer of flesh and fat and into muscle, it went in as easily as a knife through butter, "Good boy."

"Who are you!" John croaked out his eyes glued on her face, though his eyelids twitched as he desperately tried not to look down at the viscous substance that was about to be injected into his veins.

She felt her face light up at the question and lifted one hand to cup his stubbled cheek almost tenderly as she leaned down to whisper into his ear.

"Molly Moriarty."

She pressed the plunger down with violent ecstasy, revelling in the gasp the revelation earned her.

Quickly she turned on her heel knowing all too well the course of an insulin overdose; sweating and dizziness, followed by seizures, coma and then death. It was all rather civil, far too nice for the likes of John Watson but she didn't want his demise to draw too much attention. Jim was going to be angry enough as it was without her causing a _huge_ mess.

But even the threat of her brother's rage couldn't dampen her mood and she skipped off down the corridor humming to herself, the sounds of the returning medics echoing in the empty space. She would be long gone by the time they realised something was amiss.

_One down…..one to go. _


	11. Chapter 11

**Keep Breathing  
>Chapter 11<strong>

* * *

><p>Molly often used her journey home as a time for reflection and summing up,. It was during that short period that she readied herself to give her daily report to her brother, the one where they sat against the headboard of her bed drinking tea and nibbling on chocolate digestives.<p>

She didn't often however let her mind drift into the shadowy alleys of the past where monsters sprung up from every corner leaving her breathless and shaking.

But today was different.

Today she had taunted a man and pushed poison into his veins with her own two hands.

She had expected it to be harder than the long-distance murders she had been a part of before, expected the thin voice of her conscience to make an appearance at some point during the sordid affair but the only change from the norm was the intense satisfaction warming her from the inside out.

She had finally started to pay her brother back for all the times he protected her from her nightmares.


	12. Chapter 12

**Keep Breathing  
>Chapter 12<strong>

**Warning!** Implied domestic violence, murder and child abuse.

* * *

><p>Tears streamed down her face as the final scream faded into absolute silence. She buried her face deeper into her pillow, so deep she could barely breathe.<p>

The bed dipped beneath her and a hand pressed itself into the back of her head; had her father come for her now?  
>She relaxed though as fingers began to rake through her hair, scraping against her scalp comfortingly.<p>

"Are you all right Mol?"

She nodded her head, the fabric pressing against her face was damp and she was struggling to get any clear air into her lungs; slowly she rolled onto her back and stared up into the dark eyes of her brother, there were flecks of red across her cheeks and forehead.

"Ma?" she quizzed, watching as his brows drew closer together in a frown and feeling his hands ball into fists on top of her head.

"Ma's not here anymore Molly."  
>His voice was unusually tender; despite her continued attempts to play with James he had never been very forthcoming, harshly blaming her for any wrongdoings and often earning them both a slap around the head.<p>

At the words she turned onto her side, curling her knees up into her chest and letting the sadness overwhelm her again; she may have only been eight years old but she had the same quick mind as her brother, she knew exactly what was going on. The mattress shifted again as she started to sob silently and she felt a pair of thin arms wrap themselves around her torso.

"Don't cry sweetheart," he whispered, his breath warm against her cheek.

"I'm scared Jimmy," she croaked out, choking back the tears for just long enough to talk, grasping his wrists with her little fingers.

He was silent for a moment but his presence alone was enough to steady her.

"Don't be scared," he pressed his face against her shoulder and wrapped the old, fleece blanket tighter around them as if it would be enough to protect them from the violence that sat downstairs. She wouldn't sleep that night but at least she would be warm, "I'll look after you Mol, I promise."

* * *

><p>She had never blamed Jim for the five years of terror that followed their mother's sudden death; their father was a nightmare creature made of rage and hate and he certainly did not exclude his children from the long lists of things he despised in the world.<p>

Jim had tried a few times to distract attention from her and had ended up bleeding and unconscious on the bedroom floor; after the sixth time when his skull had nearly split against the corner of the wardrobe Molly had ordered he try no more.

Following her plea he had done exactly as she said but was always there for the aftermath, curling up behind her among the sweaty, rumpled sheets of her narrow bed as she cried into his neck, her entire body aching from the ravages of their father. She was certain without him she would have thrown herself from the upstairs window and not lived to regret the waste of young life.

* * *

><p>It all came to head in June when Jim came home covered in blood.<p>

At first she was terrified that he would bleed to death, until she noticed that he had no outward signs of injury.

She watched in silence as he smeared the scarlet liquid over some of their father's discarded pieces of clothing and cautiously placed a few small slices of meat…certainly not from the butcher…in the laundry basket.

However she asked no questions, even when a few days later the police barged their way through the front door and placed a pair of cuffs eagerly around Pa's wrists. There were no tears shed as she watched them bundle him roughly into the car. Jim stood beside her all the while, quiet but strong, holding her hand so tightly she lost all feeling in her fingers.

Only when a woman in a sharp suit with equally sharp cheekbones appeared and forcibly pulled her away did Molly make any sound, her high-pitched screams making the remaining officers wince as she bit and kicked the tall female who dare tear her away from her brother.  
>James was putting up a very similar fight down the hallway, held back by a suited man who may well have been a priest.<p>

* * *

><p>Molly didn't stop shouting for days and only then when her voice gave out completely; the be-shawled ladies at the care-home tried to win her over with sweets at first, then promises of a visit from Jim but eventually they gave up and left her to cry herself to sleep.<p>

James finally came to see her weeks later, they were left in a bare room with yellow walls.

"Father's in prison Mol," he had explained.

She nodded having worked that out straight away.  
>She didn't voice her thanks for Jim's part in the whole affair, frightened that one of adults would overhear but hoped he could see the utter gratitude in her face.<p>

He approached her slowly; his arms outstretched. She held herself taut for a short while but soon found just could no longer stop herself and threw her body into the small space between his arms. Safe again.

"I miss you Jim. I want you to stay with me, I don't want you to leave."

He didn't say a word just held her tighter but she understood perfectly.

He was going to come for her, she just needed to trust him and wait.

* * *

><p>It was easier said than done.<p>

The Moriarty children had never exactly fitted in and without Jim there to calm her down and soothe away her nightmares Molly rapidly became the outcast of the home.

* * *

><p>The night she heard stones hitting her window was one of the best moments of her life. She grabbed the threadbare satchel she'd kept packed for a year, shimmied down the drainpipe that ran past her window and met Jim on the lawn outside.<p>

No-one ever came looking for them, they were probably glad to see the back of the two strange children.

So James and Molly eventually found themselves on a boat to England, snuggled up together amongst crates and suitcases but thinking that life had never been better.

* * *

><p>By the age of 22 and 20 the two were thriving in London: Jim was heading up a section of a bank during the day and a fledging criminal empire by night while Molly studied for her medical degree at his insistence.<p>

She wasn't quite sure how the news of their father's release reached them but she remembered the cold sense of dread that spread from the base of her neck right down to her toes. Jim had just stared blankly ahead, his face completely unreadable even to her which was unheard of. When she had tried to speak he had simply raised a hand and left the room.

The next morning, before she woke and without saying a word to her, he flew back to Ireland.

She hadn't needed to ask him what he had been doing when he returned a few days later and they had never talked about it since; his expression told her all she needed to know. The past couldn't come for them anymore. Jim had protected her, just as he'd always promised.


	13. Chapter 13

**Keep Breathing  
>Chapter 13<strong>

* * *

><p>"Where have you been Molly?"<p>

Jim's eyes bored into her from across the room, he was sat on the sofa in a pool of light cast by the table lamp and if he hadn't looked quite so enigmatic he would have cut a rather terrifying figure.

She opened her mouth to answer…with a lie of course.

"And don't lie to me Molly," his lips were set in a straight line, "I know _exactly_ when you lie to me."

The falsehood died on her tongue.

She pulled her lips up into a smile though it was far more difficult than she'd expected; Jim was going to be furious.

"I went to see Doctor Watson…." the silence that greeted her ordered her to continue, "…he will….no longer be a problem."

Jim's eyes narrowed momentarily then widened, his hands clenching in the expensive material of his pyjama bottoms.

"What did you do Molly!"

Suddenly he was on his feet, his hands clamped down on her shoulders and face pressed so close to hers their noses were almost touching.

"Insulin overdose," she stated coldly, "You'd have been proud if you'd been there…." he looked anything but that at that precise moment, his cheeks puffing out with every breath and nostrils flaring. She reached up and laid a hand on the side of his face, her voice flat and calm, "…no-one saw me, I made absolutely sure of it."

"How can you be certain Molly! Stupid girl!" he shouted shaking her roughly; he no longer resembled her dear brother and she shrank back beneath his palms, "Hospitals always have people lurking about! I had it all planned out, every detail for the demise of them both and you go and ruin _everything_!"

Hot dampness welled up in the corners of her eyes and she shuddered.  
>A single streak of liquid ran down her cheek, scalding a path across her skin as if the salt water was acid.<p>

James had let her go now and was standing with his back to her, his shoulders were heaving and one hand was rubbing circles across his temple.

"I thought I was helping," she gasped, her fingers playing with the hem of her shirt nervously.

James moaned but did not turn.

"What did you expect me to do!" she suddenly exploded, her fists pelting against his back furiously, "They almost killed you Jim! They almost killed you and left me alone; am I just meant to forget about that! He deserved to die and I only regret I wasn't able to make it a thousand times more painful! If it were you I know you would have done exactly the same."

She couldn't see anything; the tears were turning the world into a blurred mess.  
>But she could still feel and she most definitely felt a pair of arms wrap around her, the gentle warmth of a chest press against her face and fingers tracing abstract patterns across her back.<p>

"Hush sweety," the cool, peppermint scent of his cologne was soothing and she breathed it in like it was oxygen, "It's all right."

He didn't admit he was wrong or say he was sorry but she could sense the unspoken words in his actions.

When he finally pulled away she was pleased to see he was smiling, his fingers ran over the rise of her cheek bones wiping at the dark smudges of mascara that were drying hard on her face.

"We just have to wait for Sherlock to wake up now sweety," she gave a weak smile, "He'll be fantastically angry when he hears of your handy work; should make things even more fun!"

He laughed and she felt the vibrations shake through her smaller frame like an earthquake.


	14. Chapter 14

**Keep Breathing  
>Chapter 14<strong>

* * *

><p>The message came through Sherlock's website just over two weeks later.<p>

It was the same day he had discharged himself from Bart's under the constant frown of his brother.

**Half past midnight. Bart's Mortuary. Be prepared. SH. **


	15. Chapter 15

**Keep Breathing  
>Chapter 15<strong>

* * *

><p>"A pleasure to see you again Sherlock," Jim sang as he rounded one of the work benches and came face to face with a very sickly-looking Sherlock Holmes.<p>

His lips twitched up forming his most charming smile and he stretched out one hand in greeting. The other man did not take it.

"I hear you've been unwell, I was going to send flowers but I thought it was a little inappropriate. I sent you another present though, I hope you liked it."

"I'm not here to play your games Moriarty," Sherlock snapped with a scowl, there were large, bruise-like shadows beneath his eyes and his skin was even whiter than usual._ He looks half dead; how wonderful!_  
>He wore a pair of threadbare jeans that looked like they had shrunk in the wash and a lumpy, brown jumper…John's perhaps. <em>It <em>_really __was __sickening._

James chuckled and straightened his tie, after all one of them had to look good for the final showdown, better that it be the one who was going to survive. Though he had to admit he would be a _little_ sad to see Sherlock go after all the fun they'd had, but Molly has right-_when__ wasn__'__t __she?_-things had gotten out of hand. It had only taken him being caught in an explosion and weeks of painful healing to make him realise.

"That's exactly why you're here," he gave the other man a pointed stare to emphasise his statement, "Don't try and act noble; you and I aren't all that different."

The lines across Sherlock's forehead deepened and his head tilted to one side.

"I don't kill people," he growled, those sculpted lips turning into a snarl.

Moriarty's stomach bubbled, he was being spoiled something rotten tonight. But how much more wonderful would those ice-sharp features look with a smear of scarlet across them...and a bullet hole.

He watched as those pale fingers twitched towards his back pocket.

"But you could," he sang, "you could all too easily Sherlock. Hasn't it ever appealed to you?"

He couldn't understand why not; there was nothing more thrilling than the sound of blood splattering even when you weren't the one pulling the trigger. "It's not all that bad you know, the movies do exaggerate things."

Sherlock looked like he was about to retch; Moriarty couldn't tell whether it was from pain of his yet unhealed wounds or something he'd said, he only hoped it was the latter. He ran his fingers over the edge of an empty glass beaker wondering what strange chemicals it had contained earlier in the day, while also using the movement to covertly check his watch. It was getting close to time.

He had to hide his smile when a sudden bang sounded in the corridor; someone tripping over a mop by the sound of it._ Absolutely, bloody marvellous. _

Sherlock didn't seem to notice, his grey eyes zoomed in on the closed doorway and his skin turned even whiter. Jim watched his Adam's apple bob as a familiar female voice sounded in the darkness, slightly muted by the thin layer of glass between then.

"If you technicians are messing around with my equipment again…!"

"Molly!"

Considering Sherlock claimed not to care about anybody he sounded surprisingly broken when he spoke. Something fluttered in Jim's chest at the sound of his sister's name spoken so earnestly by another man, especially one who had treated her so cruelly before, and it was not at all pleasant. But he couldn't let the detective see…not yet anyway.

Instead he allowed himself to smirk, his expression turning into a psychotic grin, his carefully plucked eyebrows lifting into his hairline; _time__ to __really __fuck __with __Mr __Holmes._

"Oh this could be fun eh Sherlock?"

Her timing was perfect, stepping through the door just as he finished speaking and 'forgetting' to switch on the lights leaving the trio in gloom; there was more to murder than weapon and motive, atmosphere was important as well.

She stepped past them, seemingly oblivious to their presence, allowing Jim to snap out his arm and get a firm hold around her neck tugging her roughly (though not too roughly) against his chest. He gave a nasty cackling laugh, nuzzling his nose into her hair in a way that could easily be interpreted as intimate. She struggled just enough to make it look realistic.

"Hello Molly," he purred, "nice little reunion isn't it?"

"Leave her alone, it's me you want," Sherlock called taking a step towards them his trembling hands still fingering his back pocket, "she hasn't got anything to do with this Moriarty."

Jim sighed loudly and shook his head his shoulders slumping beneath the grey fabric of his designer suit.

"Well this is disappointing. The great Sherlock Holmes hasn't worked it out yet? Think about it."

He could literally see the wheels turning behind Sherlock's eyes; the wonderful brain that _almost _matched his own was ticking over, sorting through the evidence, piecing every little bit together. Sherlock was open like a book and Jim was reading every word with an eager eye.

_The injection was given directly into the vein.  
>Conclusion: the person administrating it was medically trained.<em>

_John didn't put up a fight.  
>Conclusion: he knew his murderer.<em>

_There was no CCTV footage from around the room and the nurses' button had been disabled.  
>Conclusion: the murderer knew the hospital well, probably worked there. <em>

Jim knew the exact moment he worked it out, Sherlock's eyes shot up to Molly's sweetly smiling face as he took a large pace backwards, swallowing loud enough for them to hear.

"Molly!" he gasped, "But…why?"

James loosened his grip and Molly slipped out of his hold, moving wraith-like to his side.

"Such unimaginative questions Sherlock," she trilled causing him to smile; it was the only time her accent was audible these days, "Think again."

"Who?"

"Better," she breathed praising him in the most demeaning way possible. But Sherlock barely seemed to notice, he was distracted this evening, not his usual sharp-as-a-knife self and it saddened Jim beyond belief.

"You're his wife?...Lover?..."

James tutted.

"Siblings."

The word was whispered, breathless and shaking.

"Finally!" Jim exclaimed as he flicked a glass with his fingernail, enjoying the tinkling sound that echoed off the standard, white walls of the laboratory.

"It's all right," he reassured in a non-too-serious tone, one corner of his mouth pulling up into a lopsided smile, "I'm sure that big brain of yours is still functioning perfectly. Molly can be a fantastic little actress when she wants to be."

Beside him Molly gave a little curtsey, finishing months and months of playing a role she so despised. There would be no more ugly, pink coats, shapeless patterned shirts and grey flats, James had to say he was rather looking forward to taking her out and updating her wardrobe and his own.

He found himself pulled out of those rather nice thoughts by Sherlock's voice which had taken on a hard edge since his weak offering before.

"It was a bit risky wasn't it Moriarty? Putting your precious sister in the firing line."

"She was NEVER in any danger!" he screamed, the fire inside roaring up momentarily as if someone had doused it with a bottle of wine. Suddenly it died again and he was able to pull off the singed edges of his character, take a deep breath and regain his calm, "I had to keep an eye on you Sherlock and there is no-one I trust more."

A muscle twitched in Sherlock's face.

"Well this is all very touching but I'm afraid I'm going to have to stop you."

"Oh this old thing again," Moriarty yawned, "Don't you remember what I said to you at the pool? You can't stop us. We always win."

Molly smiled widely up at him so that her teeth showed.

"Then I'll just have to break your streak."

"I'd like to see you try," his sister squeezed out between her teeth, the words forced and filled with perfectly supressed anger; she'd always been much better at holding back the tidal-wave of rage than he.

"Two against one Sherlock," he continued, "You've got no pet to help you this time."

Those words seemed to be taken as a physical blow by the young detective who swayed a little on his feet one of his hands leaving his waist and coming to linger momentarily on his temples as if trying to rub away a headache. Molly had been absolutely correct again; losing Watson had made Sherlock weak, he was barely a threat in this state.

_An__ easy __kill __and__ then __off __to __bed._

"Why did you kill John?" The question was not a surprise but the bluntness made Moriarty falter for a moment.

Molly took his silence as her turn to speak, hatred welling up with every raced word; he could feel her shaking beside him and reached down to take her hand, pressing it against his leg to anchor her.

"He was annoying and I had to get my own back for the pool didn't I? Did you expect me to sit back and twiddle my thumbs when you nearly killed my brother?"

"Hush Molly," he raised her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss onto the back of her palm; she instantly grew still.

He turned back to Sherlock with a frown

"You really shouldn't upset her; she can be rather nasty when she's in a bad mood."

Something flashed dimly in the darkness over Sherlock's right shoulder and Molly's fingers tightened around his own, he squeezed back informing he saw.

Casually he used his free hand to straighten his tie again and then brushed down the lapels of his suit, not that they would have collected any dirt in Molly's meticulously clean lab; another habit the Moriarty siblings shared.

"Well this has been a lovely little catch-up my dear," he trilled with a shrug, the entire scene reminiscent of that night at the pool: he hoped Sherlock noticed. "But I sense you had something rather more important in mind when you called me here….."

Suddenly Jim was looking down the barrel of a pistol.  
>It was different to army-issue handgun Sherlock had bought along to their meetings before, no doubt because John's gun had been lost in the debris of the old leisure centre. He wondered where this one had come from.<p>

_Pick pocketing __the__ detectives __at __Scotland__ Yard__ again __have __we? _he mulled with an inward grin, _you __could __clean __out __their __offices __under __their __noses__ and __ninety-nine percent of __the__ officers __wouldn__'__t __even__ notice._

Not that he was complaining, the inadequacy of the British police force had been a blessing for them and their business; but having the challenge of someone like Sherlock had been a welcome relief.

"Oh a gun!" James let go of Mol's hand and clapped his own together in mock excitement, her fingers curled around his upper arm instead. It wasn't often his sister had seen him in danger and twice in a matter of months seemed rather unfair. "How exciting!"

"Enough with the silly games Jim," Sherlock spat his name out as if it were poison, "It's time to end this before anyone else gets hurt."

Jim smiled warmly.

"I completely agree with you Sherlock…." he carefully adjusted his gaze making sure that from Sherlock's angle it still appeared like he was looking at him. He nodded once… "When you're…"…twice… "…ready." Three times.

The gunshot went off like a high-pitched gong, the smell of gunpowder acrid on the air.


	16. Chapter 16

**Keep Breathing  
>Chapter 16<strong>

* * *

><p>"As I said Sherlock..." Jim stepped forward, toeing what remained of Sherlock's head with one well-polished shoe so it rolled lazily to one side, a single grey eye staring glassily up at him all sense of intelligence gone from its stormy depths. It was undeniably sad. "...a lovely little catch-up."<p>

"Coming Mol?" he called, stepping away from the body and turning his back as if he were a child who had simply become bored of a toy.

She raced to his side twisting her arm through his and pulling herself close into his side. She didn't say a word but he could feel her smile as she pressed her face into his shoulder.

He held the door open as they both stepped out into the dark corridor beyond, Seb's heavy footstep sounding loudly in the silence behind: _what __a __convenient __time __for __a __power__cut,_he thought proudly, _Molly__ was __ever __so __efficient._

"I was wondering sweety.." he carried on as they made their way slowly out of the hospital, running only ever made one look more suspicious, and slipped into an inconspicuous silver car"…what you think about Germany…or Russia? London seems so very dull all of a sudden."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Well that was fun I hope! Wasn't it?<strong>_

_**This has been one of my favourite stories to write.  
>Therefore I'm hoping to write some more Moriarty and maybe MoriartyMolly (in whatever guise that comes) soon****-depending on the feedback I get from this, obviously.** _

_**To everyone who has read, thank you so very much. You are all marvellous. ** _

_**Best wishes and happy holidays xxx**_


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